[Caliban Leandros Series]: Tradition
Title: Tradition
Fandom: Caliban Leandros Series
Summary: Niko gets ready to do what must be done.
Looking at the wreckage of the study, the broken window, Niko remembered his hesitation. Goodfellow was swearing a blue streak. “That’s it for the games. I hope you’ve got a plan, Niko, and a fast one.”
He stared at the streets where Cal - where Darkling had vanished. Cal was dead. When would he accept that. He felt calm.
“Niko?”
“I heard you,” he said, quietly, and turned from the window, opened a drawer, took out the scissors. “Be ready to move.” Nik felt Robin looking at him, but didn’t return it, turning on the sink. Calm seeped through him.
“What are you going to do?” Robin asked.
“Cut my hair,” Niko said, simply, letting his hair loose and picking up the scissors. “Then we’re going hunting.”
Cal would have recognized this mood. He shoved that though away and sheared through the first hank of hair, cutting it close to his scalp. He’d known, he supposed, that it would come to this. That didn’t make the taste any less bitter, already planning, turning every memory of Cal’s weaknesses against him. He’d have to be fast. Darkling knew him inside and out, just as Cal had.
Another chunk of blond hair fell into the sink. A bullet to the chest. So Darkling wasn’t taking chances. He didn’t let his thoughts wander to thoughts of a kid brother he’d promised to protect…
The scissors slipped. He nearly cut himself. Short hair swung raggedly in his face and he gripped the counter edge. “God…”
Cal, wherever you are, I’m sorry.
You cut your hair, Sophia’s voice slurred. Cut your hair for your dead. And mourn. He straightened, not looking around. “Robin,” he said in a quiet voice not quite his own. “We’re leaving.”
He left the scissors in the sink. He’d clean it up when he came back. If he didn’t come back…then nothing would matter, anyway.
Cut your hair and mourn.
Fandom: Caliban Leandros Series
Summary: Niko gets ready to do what must be done.
Looking at the wreckage of the study, the broken window, Niko remembered his hesitation. Goodfellow was swearing a blue streak. “That’s it for the games. I hope you’ve got a plan, Niko, and a fast one.”
He stared at the streets where Cal - where Darkling had vanished. Cal was dead. When would he accept that. He felt calm.
“Niko?”
“I heard you,” he said, quietly, and turned from the window, opened a drawer, took out the scissors. “Be ready to move.” Nik felt Robin looking at him, but didn’t return it, turning on the sink. Calm seeped through him.
“What are you going to do?” Robin asked.
“Cut my hair,” Niko said, simply, letting his hair loose and picking up the scissors. “Then we’re going hunting.”
Cal would have recognized this mood. He shoved that though away and sheared through the first hank of hair, cutting it close to his scalp. He’d known, he supposed, that it would come to this. That didn’t make the taste any less bitter, already planning, turning every memory of Cal’s weaknesses against him. He’d have to be fast. Darkling knew him inside and out, just as Cal had.
Another chunk of blond hair fell into the sink. A bullet to the chest. So Darkling wasn’t taking chances. He didn’t let his thoughts wander to thoughts of a kid brother he’d promised to protect…
The scissors slipped. He nearly cut himself. Short hair swung raggedly in his face and he gripped the counter edge. “God…”
Cal, wherever you are, I’m sorry.
You cut your hair, Sophia’s voice slurred. Cut your hair for your dead. And mourn. He straightened, not looking around. “Robin,” he said in a quiet voice not quite his own. “We’re leaving.”
He left the scissors in the sink. He’d clean it up when he came back. If he didn’t come back…then nothing would matter, anyway.
Cut your hair and mourn.